


Apple of Discord

by SnowRayjah



Series: Rated T for Turks [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowRayjah/pseuds/SnowRayjah
Summary: Somewhere between Pride and Wake Up Call, a life caught in the middle of the Turks. Being impressive is particularly uninteresting unless you're the fairest of them all.





	1. Frost

In a sea of suits, navy blue breaks the waves with a stench of death. This is the reminder, the stupid mantra I say under my breath as the card key lights up the reader every morning. Heavy footsteps push me into the glass tube. I am interrupted by a flash of red laughter as he smashes every button and escapes before the door closes. If he expects me to take the high road simply because it is the path less traveled, I’m going to throttle him.

 

At the first stop I let the doors close behind me. Reno stands in front of Tseng’s desk like a child with a tattle. Next to my forced partner, I cross my arms, the frown so heavy on my face that I can’t open my lips to say anything in my defense.

 

Tseng must’ve been a saint in his past life or at least the statue of one with the expression on his face. Regardless, the stone in his face is well practiced. His dark eyes pass from one to the other as if he’s trying to figure out who will speak first. The sharp inhale he takes as he closes his eyes confirms the suspicion that Reno has something to say. Like usual. 

 

_ If he doesn’t shut his trap, I’m going to eject him from the building.  _ It creeps up on me. 

 

Not just the idea but the smile as it plasters onto my face. It crosses my mind too fast to push out and as soon as I realize it Reno disappears from the room - his threats and swears little more than an echo in my ear.

 

“A new use for exit,” Tseng says returning to his emails with a half glance towards the file at the edge of his desk. 

 

A new assignment. Perhaps a chance to take that road less traveled because today I chose poorly.


	2. Spirits of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I meet the fairest of them all and have no idea how to behave.

A quick read of the contents of the fated folder remind me that he is still in charge. Once my hero, sometimes my golden standard, often a source of confusion and frustration. _Dammit, Tseng. Why not email this to them?_ I hate when he sends me on delivery missions. In fact, the manila folder plops into the basket of the weapons development department office manager. It is a swift punishment. A reminder to behave that lasts long enough for me to get back on task before Reno says or does something stupid. I almost feel bad that I always take the bait to take the edge off the job. _Almost_ .  If I wanted real control, I had but to snatch it from across the desk, pull the trigger, make it look like an accident, anything - Tseng was mortal after all. If I’d really wanted his job that badly, I could make it happen, _probably_.

 The trek back to Tseng’s office is focused on the bright tile, my boots slapping against it as I slide my card to the nearest staircase. _It’s not like I’ve learned my lesson as he wanted me to_ , I try to figure out a way to behave as best as I can for the rest of the week.

Tseng’s dark eyes send a chill into my spine. I avoided using every bit of attitude and frustration with weapons development. I spoke to no one.

“Do you own a party dress?” The sharp eyes soften into a look close to frustration.

“Probably,” I say with little thought. I mean, all women own at least one, right?

“Preferably black,” his arms cross against his chest.

The quick glance and sigh are not lost on me, but I can’t fathom what he’s plotting. I’ve already served my time by delivering that stupid folder.

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand,” soft and honest. My life would be much easier if I were a mind reader. Also if I were less stubborn. There’s a full minute of my words processing in his brain before he realizes he didn’t start a decent conversation.

“Oh,” with a shake of his head he wipes his hand across his face as though it’ll wipe the tired away from the corners of his eyes. “I have an investment attending a party. I require eyes and ears to accompany him.”

“So, you’re asking me to be someone’s date,” I can’t fathom why that makes sense or how we wouldn’t be known.  “And it has to be me, because….?”

The grin that creeps out of his frown reminds me that Tseng is a calculated killer like the rest of us. But I can’t figure out who he’s trying to kill.

“Neither Reno nor Rude have the legs for it,” Tseng replies.

“Hikou or Mikari?” Not because I’m trying to get out of it. There are _options_. I can’t fathom why I’m the most suited to a party dress as an accessory for one of his idiot informants.

“You have an affinity for sailors,” leader says as his chair turns from me. His shoulders look much broader with his back towards me. The sharp cut of his navy suit doesn’t need to hide the manipulation in his tone. It pushes the fact home - he’s still leader.

“It’s a simple escort mission, be his date for the night and make sure he comes back alive without too much trouble.” Tseng slides back into the chair, as though he no longer needs to stand to have power in this conversation.

It takes longer to get ready for this stupid mission than it does for my usual work. The hour feels like an eternity spent in unfamiliar hell - primping and parading like a damn showbird. Wash the long blond mess I call hair. Usually I keep it pinned back, out of my face, out of the way. Sometimes short and boyish. No such luck tonight. Dry, brush, curl. Drape over my pale shoulder so it glistens against the soft black dress of _their_ choosing. Slim, almost nonexistent really, straps attached to a v-neck to showcase some necklace I've never seen. It's plainer than I'd have chosen. A small green orb wrapped in silver wiring - a very miniature version of what goes into my bangle. Hopefully not lacking in any of it's contents. The length of the dress allows a small non-discreet holster on my upper thigh. Useless if I actually need to use the firearm, but a _gift_ of necessity from the angry mentor thrown out of the building this morning. His surprise tomorrow morning if I have my way.

A set of directions lights up my PHS. Black nails almost dry claw against the keypad. Speed read to find my ride will pick me up near the corner, no backup provided. He will approach you, “cool cats tired of waiting.” Response, “you've gotta be kitten me.” Any other time I'd enjoy the wordplay. Any time when I'm the one sending the messages. _Understood_ . Send. Ten black claws, one long black party dress, and a deep unsteady sigh. The heels stare at me from their box, judgmental and unkind promising a night of misery in their company. Maybe I'll get lucky and break an arm. Maybe the building will explode and the party will be canceled - _that would be too obvious._

The clicking of heels erase my sanity before I exit the building. The blue arm snakes around my shoulders as his red hair ignites the pit in my stomach. It takes my attention from the sleek white uniform. Blonde. Eyes so crystal clear blue, they’re like a cool winter’s breath against my spine. I can’t focus on the refreshing chill when the tone of Reno’s voice reminds me that he’s still pissed.

“Hey where were you, this cool cat’s tired of waiting,” he gives the blonde male a sharp smile. One that I don’t know if is meant for me or _him._

“You’ve gotta be kitten me,” Rude says from the sailor’s side. He adjusts his tie and puts a silver bangle onto my wrist. Two simple _gemstones_ adorn the face, blue and green linked by a pale indentation.

The break in standard operating procedures makes the sailor shrug. He reaches out and pulls Reno from my shoulder and slides into his spot. Maybe he knows more about Tseng than I do.

“Thank Alexander that I’m not stuck with these two, I have to be the sailor here and I couldn’t figure out which one I’d have to beat to put in a dress,” he casts a feigned look of hurt between the two before he pushes an exaggerated sigh of relief out. “Looks like Tseng is done with threats, ya?”

He ushers me down the sidewalk without familiar faces. I have to pick up my pace to keep from tripping and falling out of step. His protective arm around my shoulder sinks to my back before his hand rests near the small of it.

“Syn,” he says after a moment. “You probably know less about the shit going on than  you ought to, dear. Forgive my summary, because it has less to do with the job I’m supposed to do. You’re with Tseng, right?”

“He sent me,” I agree.

“Reno’s been saying that Tseng’s been going easy on me and that I’m not trustworthy.” His hand disappears from my back, “I’m merely an information broker in this scenario. I talk to _normal_ people and define whether their intentions are what they are literally saying - something the Turks seem unable to do. He employs me for one reason: Is every swear in the night at Shinra considered a threat to be taken seriously?”

We chase down dangerous leads, but I’ve never considered where those leads might come from. Tseng always has the answers. Something stirs in the back of my mind, something I can’t describe for lack of vocabulary. For lack of serious thought.

“As someone that spent the better part of my youth messing with Shinra, I know when people mean it,” Syn smiles. “It looks like it took years to do, but it seems Tseng’s getting serious on testing whether or not I’ll really put that knife in his ribs.”

“Will you,” I offer as my fingers rub the single green orb in my necklace.

“No, I make threats not promises,” he says as he opens the cab door. “Tseng does, too. Whatever happens tonight, you’ll be the one fulfilling any real work. Whether that supports me or not doesn’t matter to him. It only matters that your judgment be clear and concise. He is nothing if not a skilled player.” Syn slides in beside me, “what about you?”

“I don’t make threats,” I offer with soft conviction. “It’s not healthy.”

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “Put a knife in his ribs, I mean?”

“Not if I don’t have to, but I won’t say I haven’t considered it,” my eyes stay focused on the road in front of us. “Why tell me all of this?”

His arm finds a place around my shoulders again, “I’m appealing to your human side.”

Syn whips into my vision so fast that I do not miss the laughter that shines in his eyes. He leans in as though he intends to whisper something sweet. The cab driver glances back in the rearview mirror which only presses Syn closer to me. I almost wish he’d take the act more seriously because I can’t fathom what he might say.

“I used to pirate Shinra ships before my old man passed. On his deathbed he said he wanted the boys to be productive members of society. As part of my being an acceptable adult, I joined one of the few places a man could make a career for himself. With my knowledge and background in sailing the navy seemed like an acceptable bridge. I suppose getting caught on a raid really helped, too.” A soft chortle, “Tseng is a lot of things, always recognizes an opportunity. He’s kept me on a relatively long leash and I think he’s catching heat for it now. So, before we get to this party, darling, is he punishing me or you?”

“Why not both,” I can’t help but chirp amused by the idea.

“Why _not_ both,” Syn laughs the tension from seconds ago dispersing completely. “If you want to make the best of tonight, those were things you had to know. Besides that, it’s not hard to find in my file. You’d have figured it out eventually, and I think it's better to be upfront when starting a new relationship.”

I don’t know how to dignify his comment about a relationship without saying too much either for or against myself. This is my loss and we _both_ know it.

We get out of the cab to an opulent building - something I don’t recognize but I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t care or because I genuinely lack knowledge in many aspects of the city. It looks like it could be a library or courthouse, _something_ to instill a sense of order. The pale cream walls scream of a need for perfection. Unrest dances in my toes, I’ll probably have to send an apology to the architect at some point in my life. In fact, I don’t recognize the buildings or street names and I wonder if that has more to do with the fact that I still get _lost_ in Midgar. Push focus back into my system with a sharp exhale.

“I hope you're a better actor than Reno,” Syn says as he takes my hand. “Last time, I came out with one too many injuries.”

“How many did you have,” I don't know if I'm supposed to pretend I hate the idea of his hand in mine. It's a small shiver, a shock firing off every impulse in my brain that I don't. And I don't know how to translate that into something meaningful.

“One,” his exaggerated frown makes me smile. “It was too many.”

“He's not a bodyguard,” I have to offer. And I don't realize I've opened a door into something that I have no skill in until his smile stretches to his ears.

“I have higher hopes for you,” Syn chirps as he pulls out and  slides the invitation to the doorman.

Maybe the comment wasn’t meant for me. But the laugh under his breath denies my suspicion.

“Of course, sir,” the doorman says as he escorts us into the building. “Security has been doubled since last time. The master is waiting for you in the astrology room. Shall I escort you?”

“And ruin the chance to show off for my date,” Syn laughs and squeezes my hand before raising it to his lips. “Jeremy, please.”

“Of course, sir,” he nods before returning to his post.

I've never had to be an accessory for a mission and I don't know what to do with myself.

“Where would you like to go first,” Syn glances across the foyer into a large ballroom. The spiral staircase on either side draws my eyes. “There's a lot to be learned on the dance floor.”

I've never had to dance for a mission. A man in a black suit with chocolate colored hair watches us from the stair case. His hazel eyes fixated on the sailor.

“We could go out to the courtyard for a romantic stroll.”

I've never had to _stroll_ for a mission. The watcher descends the steps. My date doesn't seem to notice, too enamored in trying to get a response from me.

“We could blow up the whole place and run away together,” Syn says as he faces me.

 _I'm more familiar with this concept than I care to admit._ He stops beside us and lets out a defeated laugh.

 _“_ Syn, when will you learn you can't blow up every one of my parties and run off like a thief in the night?”

“I was told you'd be waiting in the astrology room,” Syn waves a hand at him. “You can't blame me for wanting to show my girl around, Timothy.”

“I've asked you not to call me that,” the brunette groans.

“I've asked you to stop inviting me to these stupid parties,” my sailor says as a matter of fact. “But here we are. Is everyone else here already?”

“Not yet, you’re earlier than usual. Perhaps this one is a better influence.”

“I’m always on time,” Syn says as he takes my hand. “I get distracted by people. I’m social like that.”

There are probably a million ways to interpret his statement. I don't know them. I just know I like his hand in mine. And for whatever stupidity that's worth, I don't think Tseng expected this from me. I didn't expect this. I didn't expect _him_.

“You are _my_ favorite distraction,” I give his hand a light squeeze. “I suppose I can share if I have to.”

His lips are warm on my fingers but a shiver still erupts in my spine. What have I gotten myself into?

“Do you want to share me,” Syn’s sincerity sounds sad.

Foreign as though it's the first sincere thing I've heard my whole life.

“Of course _not_ , but I can't very well keep you home from work, can I?”

“You sure can,” he places a kiss on the side of my head as he wraps an arm around my waist. “I've got plenty of leave on the books.”

“You'd use it for me,” I know to flutter my lashes for reasons unknown to the killing part of my brain.

“Burn **right** through it,” he clicks his tongue against his teeth before guiding me to the stair case. In a whisper he adds, “and I mean it.”

Behind us, Timothy’s heavy steps remind that I do have work to do. Syn ignores him, still focused on me as he walks down a long hallway with red and gold carpets. Timothy opens the third door on the left and with a wave of his hand introduces Syn and his _date._ It occurs to me that I _don't_ have a name for this mission.

Several men look up and offer a quick wave. Some give me a once over, one gives Syn a thumbs up before returning to the table.

“She clean?”

“Where would you put a wire in this dress,” someone says in my defense.

“I can think of a few places,” Timothy says.

“I will remove your hands,” Syn chirps. “Same goes for anyone else. I'll vouch for her. And if you're gonna search her. You're gonna search me.” Sharp blue eyes pierce a man on the far right, “and I don't think that Jack wants to go for round two.”

“If you want to fight him, you do it on your own time, Tim,” Jack frowns. “He's proven his loyalty.”

“That's ridiculously reasonable of you,” Syn answers without taking his eyes off of Jack.

I'm curious how he plans to stand against seven men _and_ protect me. That said, with a blink they'd all be dead at my feet. These are the dilemmas I can work through.

“No point in rocking the boat,” Jack shrugs. “That's your area of expertise. If you wanna bring your toy around, I don't give a shit. I'll assume she knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

 _But I don't, not really._ Nor do I care for his tone or the challenge in his brown eyes. Still, I have too little information to do anything with and my task is to look after Syn. To make sure that he gets back safely. _Alexander, when did I become a bodyguard?_ He smiles as though he can read my thoughts.

“Look,” Syn chirps. “I brought her to show how cool I am.” A laugh ripples through them, “let's get this shit sorted so that we can get to our _regularly_ planned schedule.”

A few alrights later produce a graph, of Shinra’s earnings for the last quarter, a map of the slums overlain on the blueprints of headquarters, materia stock information, and a list of _Important_ Shinra personnel. There are at least three people that should be on that list that are not and two that are dead or missing. Truthfully, dead but investigators haven't found anything to prove it.  

Materia prices have dropped minimally. Energy prices have gone up. They start talking about Shinra’s spending and the wasteful use of the slums. They _almost_ sound like they want to renovate to add improvements. With the map of the building spread on top, I see the strategic entry points for a raid. I'll have to talk Tseng about this. The talk stays on revitalizing Midgar for the better part of twenty minutes.

“What do you think,” Syn says in a soft whisper.

“I think revitalizing Midgar is such a lovely idea!” I clap my hands together, they give me a look of sympathy which they focus on Syn after a few seconds, “you didn't tell me you were part of the revival.”

“I'm full of surprises,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

It's plenty of information for me to know they are not planning on helping anyone. The building of new pillar supports, gardens, and enhancing life under the plate don't make sense with the Headquarters map. Maybe I do know when to keep my mouth shut. Still, I wish I had thought ahead to bring something to record this with. Reno would accuse me of being a rookie.

“Are you familiar,” someone asks me.

I suppose I'll have to improvise. I can kill them all and take their plans. It's messy. Rude would accuse me of being reckless.

“Only that I signed a petition months ago and was starting to give up on the idea.” A long sigh before touching my chin with my forefinger and taking a moment to inspect the ceiling, then a smile, “I'm so glad it wasn't for nothing!" 

It's inefficient and probably loud. Tseng would accuse me of ignoring orders.

“Of course not,” Syn rests his hand on my knee. “Please continue, gentlemen.”

Another thirty minutes pass before all eyes fall on me. Something in their conversation needs to change and I'm holding that up.

“Love?”

Syn turns towards me.

“May I be excused to stretch my legs and use the little girl’s room?”

“Eh?” is followed by “oh” which is replaced with “oh! Yes! Of course! We will get Jeremy to escort you.”

“Thank you!”

Jeremy is sweet and well-meaning, but not very bright. He falls asleep with the blink of my pretty lashes. I am but one girl with the materia provided on the bangle and necklace. One of which is master magic because Rude isn't an idiot. Still, why the hell would Reno _only_ choose to provide me with sleepel? I'm going to put a gun in his face.

I haven't decided if I'll pull the trigger.

 _I won't._ But only because Mikari would be bored.

And I don't want to clean up the mess.

I digress.

Making my way back to the room would be more challenging if I didn't have Syn to focus on. I listen outside of the door.  The cheery revitalization project members argue. Syn’s breathing distracts me. Soft and calm.

“Look, if you really want to raid HQ it's going to take more than building around the checkpoints. Eventually Shinra will catch on and it won't take them long to figure out what you're doing,” Syn sighs. “I thought you guys had more than this. Why should _anyone_ invest in this?”

“Your way takes too long!”

“My way is harder to see through,” Syn snorts. “You guys wanna get caught, fine. But keep my employer and me out of it. This is a waste.”

“Your way requires a lot more effort and wheeling and dealing. We can't afford to have that many people in on this.”

“If you want the money, you will,” Syn’s voice is final.

The conversation dies. _Haste_ back to sleeping Jeremy and slowly wake him. He escorts me back and I enter the tomb, everyone sour but Syn.

“Ah,” he stands and takes my hands. “I missed you~”

When he wraps his arms around me he just barely says, “how long would it take you to kill them all?”

“For you,” I meet his gaze. “The blink of an eye.”

“Gods, if that's as true as you make it sound,” he turns to the clearing throats.

“Later, my darling,” rolls passed my teeth as we take our seats.

Another two hours before we can leave. He leans against the railing, the moonlight against his features. I'd  almost bet he was glowing.

“Can you really do it?” Syn removes his cover and runs his hands through his hair.

“Yes,” a nod follows my closed eyes. “Why? Do you need them alive?”

“No, and though they're serious, they're also idiots.” Syn watches me. “A single blink, huh?” He looks up at the moon. “Each or total?”

“For you,” I take his hand and look up at the moon. “Total.”

“I bet it's terrifying,” he laughs.

“Probably,” but I don't really know. I don't know if it's swift or pleasant. I only know that once he takes it seriously, the room will be left with the spirits of the dead.

“Probably ought to get this stuff back,” he muses.

“How long until they turn on you?”

“Oh they're mustering their troops now, I bet I have like three seconds of freedom left,” he says as we start walking down the sidewalk. “Am I gonna miss it?”

“Probably, three seconds is a long time and sometimes, someone else makes choices for you.”

I kiss his fingers. I try to slow the blink. Death dances out of my shadow. It swirls around the building and disperses in the moonlight. He's surprised that no one shows up. No one stops us, it's silence in the moonlight. He drops a flash drive into my hand. Syn walks a few feet away and throws a smile at me, his hand outstretched in the moonlight. The flash drive disappears- quick remove to my gear, safe and sound. I should think better of it. But I don't.

Sometimes people make choices for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also contradictions.


	3. Tell-Tale Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I heard it, but couldn't tell if he could and it threatened to drive me insane.

Syn’s heartbeat is gentle and steady, relaxing. The warmth of his skin something I didn’t realize I’d wanted.  I push out the thoughts of being Shinra’s pawn. My poker face slips into a genuine smile as he pushes his PHS onto the nightstand. The erratic heartbeat of my PHS slips onto the floor. I have to climb over him to get to it. He reads over my shoulder.

_ 1 New Message: Leader _

_ Package received. Assets assumed safe and sound. Time has been reflected for the day off. _

“How kind,” Syn’s head touches mine as though he’s trying to see through the device. “He wants something.”

“He probably needs to keep us  _ both _ occupied,” I sink back into his warmth.

“Shinra politics are boring as hell,” Syn sighs. “You either support old man Shinra and his stupidity or you support the two faced brat and hope that he doesn’t put a shotgun between your eyes. Neither money nor fear have any end game.”

I’m not sure what that has to do with anything, but I’ve been content to follow orders. When the furrows on my brow push a frown onto my face his chuckle snaps me back to reality.

“What do you get from Shinra anyways?”

I've never been good with small talk. I still feel inclined to try to give him an answer. But I don't have a clue. 

Commitment. A paycheck. Power. Camaraderie. A place to call home. The feeling of changing the world. A pit in my stomach the more I understand. It’s nothing like I imagined, and I get the idea many of us bought something we never received. In fact, I worked too much because I had no life outside of my identity as a member of the Turks. I don’t know if it’s because I had no desire or I’d been trained that way. Day in and out there were only the Turks and marks, and the occasional tussle with other divisions in the lunch line over something stupid. Still, I considered Mikari, Cherri, and Hikou friends - probably the closest thing I had to them. I mean, it’s not like you play Mog House with casual acquaintances. 

Still, you don’t usually plan the death of another person with friends. Not in the methodical erase from existence completely way that Mikari does. Not in the leave no survivors way that Hikou does. Not in the I can do it with a smile and everyone will look the other way that Cherri does.

_ What do I get out of Shinra? _

“What do you get,” I have to throw back for lack of a genuine answer. Otherwise I'd have muttered something stupid about him. A small victory if I do say so myself. 

“Time filler,” Syn answers. “On good days a laugh, I'm unaccustomed to anything genuine coming out of Shinra.” 

I know what he means. Shinra is motivated by something beyond me. Something so distant I have to live in the moment. 

“That said, there's a first for everything,” the smoothness of his voice soothes my imaginary wounds.  

The tingle in my spine reminds me that he is  _ skilled _ with his tongue. His ability to talk his way out of any problem  **is** the reason Tseng keeps him. 

Ice dances across his arm but Syn doesn't withdraw at the warning. Neither do the hairs on his neck stand on end. 

It takes a full minute for me to recognize the sound of my heartbeat slamming against my chest. And for half a second I pray he can't hear it, too. 

“I need something else to fill my time with.” Syn draws a breath, warm against my ear, “or someone. Otherwise the boredom will kill me and I'll have to take up old habits and then Tseng  _ will. _ ”

“If he hasn't yet, he doesn't plan on it,” a sigh against the realization that I'm clearly beat. No victories, small or otherwise, for this one. “Worst case, he makes me do it.”

“I  _ can _ think of worse ways to die,” he laughs but the chuckle stops halfway in his throat. “But you  _ do that  _ for a living, don't you?”

“Yes, we have to explain the most excruciating death we can think of as part of our entrance interview,” I give a solid half nod. 

“In which your shadow display last night pales in comparison, I'd imagine,” his tone is thoughtful as though he's trying to see through me. 

Maybe he can't hear my heartbeat as well as I think he can. 

“So, was your way as flashy as Rude’s?”

Or maybe he doesn't care. 

“I am the favorite for a reason,” I shrug, just say things to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. To hide the fact that some part of my brain I don’t recognize is creeping into this waking dream.

“I doubt it’s the only reason,” there’s a moment of silence and then a chuckle. “Still,  _ anything _ is better than Rude’s flair for the dramatic.”

My smile must be odd because his chuckle stops. The soft expression on his face no longer holds amusement. It borders a nod of understanding and the nudge of a shared secret. My fingers feel small and delicate in his warm hands. 

“Hey, be honest with me,” Syn’s pale blue eyes are level with mine.

“Sure, but just this once,” my heart threatens to collapse my ribs.

“Can I count on this?” His smile returns and he takes my hand again, “this,  _ us _ .”

I nod, but only because I wouldn’t be able to hear myself over the quickened heartbeat. It’s only now that I realize I don’t know if it’s mine or his.

**Author's Note:**

> because Hikou and Syn.


End file.
